By Greenwell, Bill
The Independent (London, England)
Jungle. 7am. In the presenters' eyrie.
Dec: Morning! It's day eight of I'm a Literary Celebrity - Get Me out of Here!
Ant: And some of our 10 writers have got cramp after yesterday's group task.
Dec: Tom Eliot's feet have started to pen-and-ink.
Ant: And Emily B is still wuthering away. She's used two narrators, and she's got a cracking title.
Dec: What's that then?
Ant: Cathy Come Home.
Dec: That's a play, isn't it?
Ant: At this time of the morning, it's probably a breakfast serial. Let's have a look in camp, and see who's still afraid of...
Ant & Dec: Virginia Woolf!
Shot of camp.
Dylan Thomas: After the tum-grumbling, bowel-shivered night, hush as all the spring-heeled writers feather their quills with the scrawlings of dawn, and the dibbling of His Nibs in the jungle's fat- spit jangle. The girls are drooling over the cookpot cockcrow.
Emily Bronte: Ey oop! Who's let t'fire out?
Sylvia Plath: Why is it so cold? Are they embers? Of course, they are embers. I put my candied hand to the heat. I have simply let it out, like a sigh, like a dried tide.
Bert `DH' Lawrence: I came down, down here to eat, in the long hot shadow, the long hot baking shadow of the eucalyptus, and the pot, the round and bulbous pot, is in gloom, a deep dark gloom that is not a gloom, only gloomier.
Emily: Ey oop! They's no tea in yon pot. Sithee, Sylvia...
Sylvia: The moon is like a spoon, spun. I am no maid. So how should I boil up, boil up, boil up?
Tom `TS' Eliot: Only, there is water under that red rock.
Emily: Ey flaming oop!
Back to jungle eyrie.
Dec: Oh dear, oh dear. I don't think they're pen-pals today, eh?
Ant: They've lost the plot.
Dec: Anyways. Yesterday, if you remember, Bill Shakespeare only won four stars in the Cyclo Drama Trial. He had to hang upside down in a croc-infested swamp, and every time he found a new genre, he had to ring his bell.
Ant: But Avon wasn't calling for Bill, was it?
Dec: It wasn't. He got the history, the comedy, the pastoral- comical, the scene individable, but he totally missed out on the others.
Dec: It was.
Ant: No, that was one of the ones he missed.
Dec: Is that right? We didn't do that in GCSE. Anyways, as a result, the whole camp went hungry.
Ant: They ate a dog, a horse, a rat, but they had no fool at all. Gooseberry fool, probably.
Dec: So, anyways. The Great British Public have been voting on who has to face today's Bush Tucker trial. If you want Anita to Loos, ha ha, just add 01. If you want Bert Lawrence down the pit, add 02. If you want Bill to swan about, add 03. For Cole Porter to be tops, add 04.
Ant: If you want Dylan to go gentle into that fly-infested bog, 05. To see Emily baht 'at, 06. And if Mrs. Gaskell's your rascal, 07.
Dec: For Sylvia to be the bees' knees, 08. To see Tom under the brown fog, 09. And for Virginia to have a DOOM of her own, 10.
Ant and Dec start travelling across the bridge. In the camp:
Tom: A rat crept slowly over the vegetation. Wallala leia lala.
Anita Loos: So Bill only got four stars. …